


he calls him anthony

by birdycurtains



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorced Tony Stark, Enemies to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Movie Director Peter Parker, Movie Director Tony Stark, Oblivious Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker was a Barista, Precious Peter Parker, Romantic Fluff, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24211543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdycurtains/pseuds/birdycurtains
Summary: Prompt: What about Tony being an old school horror director who feels like he’s about to be upstaged by Peter, a new horror director - think Blumhouse - and Tony, never having met him, both hates and fears him, until he bumps into him at a movie theater and hit it off until Peter introduces himself.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	he calls him anthony

**Author's Note:**

> \- Hi there! This kind of diverges from the prompt, but I'm happy with how it turned out and I hope you are too :)

Friday nights were sacred. They were nights centered around going to see old movies at the IFC, and there was never to be a schedule conflict. Because that was one of the three nights he was awarded for seeing his daughter a week. 

And he would die before he didn’t take Morgan to see a truly good movie every Friday night. 

This night was _Sunset Boulevard_ , he did always enjoy a good Wilder film, as did Morgan. Her twelve-year-old self had mastered the art of the Norma Desmond gaze.

But here was Peter Fucking Parker, waltzing out of a showing down the hall. Morgan blearily leaned into her dad's side as he attempted to speedily walk out of Parker’s field of vision.

It wasn’t that he hated Peter Parker, well maybe he did just a little. 

He was once that fresh face on the scene, basking in the limelight, being the true face of modern horror. 

But now his takes weren’t exactly fresh, and what the younger audiences were looking for. They wanted a twisted gore, with just this side of odd comic relief, that Parker had perfected while Pepper was serving Tony divorce papers.

So maybe he was envious, maybe he was just tired of every time he attended a premier or so much as breathed in the direction of the media, he was hounded with questions of _what exactly did he think about Peter Parker?_

In the beginning, he didn’t care or think much. But as trailer after trailer was put out, the movies being produced at a rapid rate while maintaining or increasing their following, even Morgan was asking her father if they could rent this, or if they could go to the cinema to see that.

And maybe he caved once, and with a hoodie, and sunglasses, a hat. For good measure of course. He went and saw one. With Morgan, because she insisted, and who was he to deprive her. 

It was good. And he resented Peter Parker for the same craft he held a torch for.

So here was Peter Parker, coming out of _Casablanca_. And making a bee-line towards him. 

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark?”

God damn it. 

Tony willed his body to face the younger man. Morgan follows in suit, her eyes widening in realization, and proceeding to prod her elbow directly into her father’s side.

“Mr. Parker, well, nice to see you.” 

Tony could play nice, put on his ‘customer service’ voice, and act chummy with Peter Parker.

Although, the in-person Parker didn’t exactly match what he imagined.

This one wore threadbare jeans, and converse that had seen better days, three years ago. 

He didn’t match the one he had seen plastered over last month's vanity fair, the pictures that had circulated his time-line a little more than his liking. 

They ran in the same circles, it wasn’t like he was actively looking for him.

“Gosh, Mr. Stark, it’s an honor to meet you. Please, call me Peter.”

He was like a chihuahua that took a five-hour-energy-shot. 

His handshake was firm, and he slipped his glasses back up his nose as he collected himself. 

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but I thought I had seen you here before, I come here all the time y’know, every time they have a Rocky Horror showing, I’ve got tickets.” 

It was easy to catch that he was a New York native, unlike Tony himself. His Queens drawl interweaving between vowels and catching on to his r’s. It was rather cute, and personable. 

Did he just- Tony called him cute. Christ.

“My daughter and I like the classics.” He put simply smoothing down Morgan’s unruly strands. 

“Yeah, me too. I’m usually knee-deep in everything going on right now, that to just enjoy the good ol’ stuff-”

He gave a dramatic sigh of pleasure, Tony felt his ears turn red.

“That’s everything man. You would know of course. God, of course, you know- I mean”

The younger man cut himself short as he realized he was gripping Tony’s shoulder, his face, and neck flushing red.

“I’m sorry- I’m probably taking up your family time. But, we should totally get together. Like talk shop or whatever?”

Peter flashed him the brightest smile, he swore the dim hallway was a little brighter.

“Yeah.”

The man was gone with a friendly wave as he jogged back to a small group of people, probably his friends, towards the exit.

Tony looked down at the ground and focused on his hand that hung limply by his side. On it was a chicken scratch phone number. 

Peter had written down his phone number. On Tony’s hand. 

And he hadn’t even noticed.

~

A few days later, Tony decides to grow a pair. He types the number into his phone, makes an individual contact for a Mr. Peter Parker.

He never thought this day would come. And he’s not sure the exact connotation behind that thought.

Does he call? Does he text?

In all honesty, it has been a minute since he attempted friendship or even communication outside of his usual social circle. 

Things had never been like this when he and Rhodey had initially become friends. Even the rest of his band of misfits had just happened naturally, never really taking this much preamble communication.

He texts.

~

They decide to meet at a small cafe around the NYU campus. Peter had said the place was quiet and usually uncrowded, one of his favorites.

Going against his gut, he trusts Peter and agrees.

Now here he is, looking presentable for the public eye, it’s a Monday. He’s just dropped off Morgan at school, and here he is. At another school.

“Anthony!”

He winces just the slightest and is met with the vision that is Peter Parker at eight a.m. on a Monday morning. For someone so heavily criticized and praised in the public-eye, appearances must be everything on some level for the man. He doesn’t exactly aim to disappoint.

He looks so effortlessly cozy, dolled up in his black turtleneck and rust orange suede jacket, and those same glasses from the week prior perched against his brow bone. His hair looks soft, and his eyes are warm.

“Mr. Parker.”

That’s good. Set some boundaries, before you directly tell him he looks soft.

“I told you.” Peter sighs wistfully, wrapping his hands around a deep mug of hot chocolate? 

He looks up again with the same kindness and warmth.

“Call me Peter.”

~

He invited him to dinner.

He doesn’t exactly know how it happened. It was somewhere between talking about how Peter had wound up picking up where his uncle left off, and how working as a barista in the cafe they were sitting in was Peter’s favorite job during college.

He could imagine a littler Peter, running around behind the counter making drinks and warming up scones. His open textbook to the left of the register, just like he described.

It made a fluttering in his chest somewhere, to know a personal and small detail of _the_ Peter Parker. 

Not in a, I’m a huge fan of _the_ Peter Parker.

But, in a this kind young man, I am having the privilege of getting to know, kind of way.

The point is he invited him to dinner, at this high-end steak house he’s familiar with. A reservation for eight. 

It’s eight forty-five, and he’s on his second glass of red wine, Peter’s on his third.

Things are comfortably warm, they’re talking about Tony’s first movie, and how much of a shitshow it was, but the critics loved it.

The steak is amazing, they order dessert.

And he doesn’t budge or comment when Peter hooks his foot around his own. He only smiles softly and watches Peter’s curious eyes watch as he brings a piece of poached pear to his mouth.

He hails Peter a cab at the end of the night, and Peter thanks him for dinner.

He calls him Anthony, once again.

~

Peter calls him this time.

It’s in the late hours of the night, and Tony, never really one for sleeping through the night anyway, has a lapful of script he’s reviewing, making sure it fits his artistic vision and what-not.

His voice is rough around the edges, a haze of sleep almost.

Tony wonders what it sounds like in person. If he were in bed next to him, or with him. Maybe with a lapful of Peter Parker, and not dialogue bleeding into his iris’.

He invites Tony over for Thursday night.

Peter knows the custodial schedule. That should mean something right?

He texts him an address later in the day. It’s in the Upper East Side, not too far from him, it’s in a cozy neighborhood of brownstones. 

Very Peter Parker.

~

Tony, will never understand Rocky Horror.

Peter had invited him when he arrived a little late, just five minutes, but he could see the worry drip off his shoulders as he greeted him at the door.

His home was a beautiful thing, filled to the brim with the most eclectic vintage interior, but it somehow matched.

He had learned from their meeting at the cafe, that Peter’s aunt owned a store that specialized in all things vintage and antique. It hadn’t surprised him to see it rubbed off on him.

In the downstairs parlor, it was decorated with dozens of Peter’s movie posters. Some were beta’s that Peter and an artist had worked on together. Peter flushed when he caught him staring. 

Tony would never get used to the fact that this Peter Parker was shy and not open about his work in his personal life, he liked to keep things very separate. 

He watched him put together a heaping bowl of kettle corn and followed him up a winding staircase, Peter remarked it was his favorite thing about the house.

He told him they were watching Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

Tony had never seen it in his entire life, he knew the cult following it had, but he couldn’t piece together that this is something Peter loved so much but was so different from the direction he took with his work. 

He only smiled and agreed and saddled up with Peter on the pink floral couch. 

They’d never done this before, but it felt so familiar, like they had been through this scenario a dozen times, and it was just natural to lean into each other and fumble for the sugary popcorn between them.

It was around the scene when Frank N Furter was doing the backstroke with the rest of the cast in the swimming pool, that Tony realized their closeness.

How he had his arm wrapped around Peter, and Peter had just melted into his side.

The younger man must’ve felt the pressure of Tony’s gaze burning into the side of his face since he turned his head to face him. 

It was all very cliche in this sense. 

A romantic scene directed and scripted and cast.

Except for the love interests were him and Peter.

Peter kissed him first. That’s all he can clearly recall, the seconds prior being a blur of ‘is this actually happening’ to ‘it’s actually happening, do something’.

Finally, the cognitive gears in his brain rekindle their function, and his lips are moving against Peter’s. He’s so warm and soft, he tastes like cinnamon sugar. 

Peter’s hands are grounding against his chest, holding him to reality, in any other case he would’ve drifted off somewhere because he has to be dreaming.

But this is real. And Peter’s real.

And, oh no. 

Tony gently pulls away from Peter’s grasp and takes a breath. And Peter’s got this smile on his face like he won the grand prize at a carnival game.

“Peter- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. This is not going to happen.”

The smile falls faster on Peter’s face than the pit in his stomach.

There’s something hurt and cold in his eyes. The warmth is gone, and the guilt gnaws at Tony as he flees the Parker residence. 

~

It’s been two weeks since the Rocky Horror incident. 

Peter’s texted, and called. He believes he’s got Anthony all figured out. 

To be truthful he does. 

He had called Anthony out on his behavior six hours ago and hasn’t sent another message since.

Peter left a voicemail stating that Anthony wasn’t going to let himself enjoy something without finding an excuse for why he can’t. Peter wants this, and Anthony wants this, then that is all that matters. He is going to be filming at this location for the next two weeks, he can make his peace by showing up or not.

Tony stared at the message for ten minutes before Morgan told him to go get Peter.

She knew.

She always knows.

~

When Tony saw Peter again he was rushing past people ushering him to stop.

But Tony was on a mission, he felt like one of his main characters in the final leg of the movie, finally making it out alive, and this was the final call, where he would live to the credits, or the antagonist would leave no survivors. 

Peter was beautiful.

Even if he did look like Prom Queen Carrie at the moment. 

His hands and clothes were covered in fake blood, helping arrange the set to a T.

When Peter looked up at him, he knew he would make it to the credits.

His boy ran at him and swallowed him in his warmth. 

It was a pining, longing, and apologetic kiss, with bloody hands cradling Tony’s face.

“You’re dumb, and you hurt my feelings, Anthony,” Peter whispered as he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry.” He replies, his eyes watery, insecurity wrung out like a rag, he wanted Peter and Peter wanted him. He chanted it a million times into the crook of Peter’s neck, just holding him. 

Peter pulled away and held him by his shoulders “It’s okay Anthony.”

He smiled that big beautiful warm smile of his, and pushed him away.

“Now. Get off my set. I’ll see you at nine, bring Morgan, they’re playing Psycho tonight.”


End file.
